T Is for Trespass

it was up to me to perform CPR.
    I tiptoed to Gus’s bedside and found myself using my public library voice. “Hello, Mr. Vronsky. I’m Kinsey Millhone, your next-door neighbor.”
    “I know who you are! I didn’t fall on my head.” Gus spoke in his normal tone, which came across as a shout. I glanced uneasily toward his roommate’s bed, wondering if the poor guy would be jarred out of his sleep.
    I placed the items I’d bought on the rolling table beside Gus’s bed, hoping to appease his ill temper. “I brought you a candy bar and some magazines. How’re you doing?”
    “What’s it look like? I hurt.”
    “I can just imagine,” I murmured.
    “Quit that whispering and talk like a normal human being. If you don’t raise your voice, I can’t hear a word.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Sorry doesn’t help. Before you ask another stupid question, I’m sitting up like this because if I lie on my back the pain is worse. Right now, the throbbing’s excruciating and it makes my whole body feel like hell. Look at this bruise from all the blood they’ve drawn. Must have been a quart and a half in four big tubes. The lab report says I’m anemic, but I didn’t have a problem until they started in.”
    I kept my expression sympathetic, but I was fresh out of consolation.
    Gus snorted with disgust. “One day in this bed and my backside is raw. I’ll be covered with sores if I’m here one more day.”
    “You ought to mention it to your doctor or one of the nurses.”
    “What doctor? What nurses? No one’s been in for the past two hours. Anyway, that doctor’s an idiot. He has no idea what he’s talking about. What did he say about my release? He better sign it soon or I’m walking out. I may be sick, but I’m not a prisoner—unless getting old is a crime, which is how it’s regarded in this country.”
    “I haven’t talked to the floor nurse, but Henry will be here in a bit and he can ask. I did call your niece in New York to let her know what was going on.”
    “Melanie? She’s useless, too busy and self-absorbed to worry about the likes of me.”
    “I didn’t actually talk to her. I left a message on her machine and I’m hoping to hear back.”
    “She’s no help. She hasn’t come to visit me for years. I told her I’m taking her out of my will. You know why I haven’t done it? Because it costs too much. Why should I pay a lawyer hundreds of dollars to make sure she doesn’t get a cent. What’s the point? I’ve got life insurance, too, but I hate dealing with my agent because he’s always trying to talk me into something new. If I take her name out as beneficiary, I have to figure out who to put in. I don’t have anyone else and I won’t leave a thing to charity. Why should I do that? I worked hard for my money. I say let other people do the same.”
    “Well, there’s that,” I said, for lack of anything better.
    Gus looked at the semicircle of curtain. “What’s the matter with him? He better quit that gasping. It’s getting on my nerves.”
    “I think he’s asleep.”
    “Well, it’s damned inconsiderate.”
    “If you want, I can hold a pillow over his face,” I said. “Just kidding,” I added when he didn’t laugh. I took a peek at my watch. I’d been with him the better part of four minutes. “Mr. Vronsky, can I get you some ice before I have to take off?”
    “No, just get on with you. To hell with it. You think I complain too much, but you don’t know the half of it. You’ve never been old.”
    “Great. Okay, well, I’ll see you later.”
    I made my escape, unwilling to spend another minute in his company. I had no doubt his testiness was a result of his misery and pain, but I wasn’t required to stand in the line of fire. I retrieved my car from the parking lot, feeling as irritable and out of sorts as he.
    As long as I was in a bad mood anyway, I decided to try serving Bob Vest again. He might get away with neglecting his cat, but he better pay attention to his ex-wife and kids. I drove to his house and parked across the street as I had before. I tried my habitual knock on the door to no great effect. Where the hell was the guy? Given that this was my third attempt, I could technically pack it in and file an Affidavit of Inability to Serve Process, but I felt I was getting close and I didn’t want to give it up.
    I returned to my car and ate the brown-bag lunch I’d packed—an olive pimento cheese sandwich on whole grain bread and a cluster of grapes,